


Let Be Be Finale of Seem

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Angst, Community: ds_flashfiction, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds





	Let Be Be Finale of Seem

_Close your eyes, Ben_.

He doesn't like to resort to that memory, to hearing her voice. Prefers to keep his mind blank while he lies on his cot, strokes hard and fast to get it over with, just staring around the storeroom, so if any thoughts intrude they're only lists of things: grey file cabinet, coathooks, piles of boxes. There's a wall, there's another, there's a closet door.

Keep it brisk and physical. Required maintenance, like exercise. Lets him relax a little, concentrate on his work more for a few days; nothing to do with her or with anybody else.

But some nights it doesn't work. Some nights he gets--_stuck_, just him and his hand and nobody else even in his mind, it's not _working_ and he's getting--more tense instead of less, and frustrated with himself because _everyone_ can do _this_, can't they? And when he starts to get a little chafed, a little sore, he'll give up, relent, let her in his head.

Leaning over him, dark hair falling to either side of his face, cutting him off from the world. Smiling, saying, _Close your eyes, Ben_.

And he does. He did. Closed his eyes and waited for whatever she was going to do. He was a little frightened, because he didn't know what it was. And then a lot frightened, because he realized that whatever it was, even if it hurt, he wouldn't move, wouldn't stop her, because he deserved it.

What she did was good, _felt_ good, felt wonderful. But he never gets that far, in his remembering. It's the jolt of terror that puts him over the edge, every time.

***********************************************************

But not tonight. He's replayed that in his head, over and over, her beautiful voice and the shock of fear, and he's still stuck, still hanging on the edge, hurting. He's worn that one night with her thin from using it too often, the colors are fading and her voice going staticky, and he's lost it, he's lost, he is never going to come. He keeps telling himself to stop, just stop, give up, go take a shower, but he's so close, been so close for so long, and he can't bear it, and suddenly _Ray's_ voice pops into his head, saying, "Close your eyes, Fraser," and he does.

He does, and he's coming all over his hand and his stomach and it's so good, release and relief and something in his spine unclenching. He's always quiet through this, biting his lip, hissing a little; but tonight he's talking, garbling his way through it, oh god oh god, because it's so good.

And then he's done, breath slowing, realizing what just happened.

Oh god.

**************************************************************

 

He doesn't want to go by the precinct the next day. But he already has lunch plans with Ray. He has a suspicion that Ray's read his files and knows it's his birthday, and would object to Fraser bowing out.

He wasn't really looking forward to this birthday anyway. He's been thinking lately about where he expected to be, at thirty-five, and it wasn't here. Wasn't in a storeroom, in exile. He'd thought there would be a cabin, and a wife, and a small son or two. (And he'd be around, he'd be around _much_ more, he wouldn't take on a territory that had him gone for months at a time.)

And now he's having thoughts he likes even less, about how maybe there was a reason that he wasn't in a cabin with a wife, and maybe it wasn't fate and it wasn't bad luck, or shyness, or unrealistically high standards, or--scarring. Maybe something else altogether, and he really doesn't want to see Ray, today.

***************************************************************

Ray's grabbing a roll of paper towels out of the supply closet, because his coffee hadn't kicked in yet when he was at the store this morning and he forgot to get napkins when he was picking up cups and plates. (They have autumn leaves printed on them, and he thinks maybe one is a maple; close enough.)

He organized this because, well, Fraser did a party for _him_. It was a party from Planet Freak, yeah, and not even actually on his real birthday or anything. And Huey'd dislocated his kneecap and Welsh thought for weeks that he'd gotten some weird intestinal parasite from biting a live trout. (Turned out to be acid reflux from too much pastrami.) But still. It was a party. And Ray thought, lately, that Fraser could use a little cheering up. Nothing you'd notice unless you really knew the guy, but he was kinda--off. His polite wasn't quite as shiny as usual. And last night, they'd been walking to a diner after work, and a kid threw a gum wrapper on the sidewalk right in front of them, and Fraser hadn't even fucking _noticed_. _Ray_ had to give the kid the lecture, because he'd heard it so many times by now, he couldn't stand for _nobody_ to do it.

Ray couldn't figure any reason for Fraser being off, for a while. Frannie had, god knows why, actually stopped drooling all over Fraser every time he came by, which Ray would think would cheer Fraser _up_. And then he finally remembered the birthday thing, and hey, maybe Fraser was having a midlife crisis, just like a normal American human. Maybe a party would help.

So he's taking the paper towels back toward the break room when Fraser walks into the station, and Ray panics for a second before he remembers that paper towels are not actually incriminating in the way that, say, a stack of nice matching autumn-leaf possibly maple-leaf ones would be, and relaxes. "Hey, Fraser," he says.

Fraser puts the brakes on when he's standing about ten feet further away from Ray than usual, which means he's about ten and a _half_ feet away, and looks at the ceiling when he says, "Hello, Ray."

Ohhhkay.

"I got something you gotta see, Fraser," Ray says, and waves him over to his desk and is showing him some fingerprint cards and blithering something until he gets the high sign from Frannie that they're ready, which thank god is soon because he's running out of blither.

He's supposed to walk Fraser into the break room, so he grins at him and reaches up to put a hand over his eyes, and Fraser jumps away so fast he actually _blurs_. Like the Flash or something.

This is seriously weird. Because he touches Fraser all the time, and the guy never seems to mind. It sort of freaked Ray out a little bit at first that he couldn't seem to _stop_ touching Fraser all the time, but he worked out that he just—you know, you're married for a long time, you get used to a certain amount of touch? Not sex, just--contact. And it's depressing when you don't get it anymore, which was probably part of Ray's problem before he took the undercover gig, when things were really bad. And now, if Fraser doesn't mind, what's the harm in just…getting that little contact? Except now, maybe, he _does_ mind. Ray should probably get a dog.

"Jesus," Ray says. "Touchy today? Okay, just close your eyes then."

Fraser turns _gray_. Really, seriously, gray, and looks like he might throw up.

"Fraser." Ray says. "Buddy. What the fuck? You okay?"

Fraser nods. But still gray, and still looking like he's about to decorate the linoleum, and still not looking Ray in the face.

"Hey," Ray says. "Not to, uh, spoil the surprise. But I'm supposed to be hauling you in there for a birthday party. Not, like, a _firing squad_, or anything."

"Oh." Fraser says. He nods again, closes his eyes, holds out his hands, and Ray grabs a wrist and pulls him into the break room. The candles are all lit and everybody sings. And Ray actually got the bakery to draw an icing trout on the cake so Fraser wouldn't feel like he'd wandered too far from the Freak Kingdom, which Ray thought was pretty funny, but Fraser doesn't seem to notice. Seems really kind of out of it still, nodding and smiling but not all there.

He's a bitch to buy for--he doesn't seem to _want_ anything. So Ray had ended up buying a nice leather journal, because Fraser talked so much about his dad's journals, and because maybe that way Fraser would write _down_ all the freakin' Inuit stories and stop melting Ray's brain with them.

Fraser actually seems to perk up a little bit when he opens that, says "That's very lovely, Ray," and only Fraser could get away with saying _lovely_ without sounding completely gay.

The next present he opens, though, is from Dewey, which Ray's surprised that the asshole even bought anything. And then not so surprised when it turns out to be a gag gift, a big bottle of lube. With a big foldout card attached, with instructions, and _pictures_. Fraser unfolds it and just stares.

"Dewey, you jerk," Ray says, but doesn't get too worked up about it, because it's Dewey, the jerkhood is no big surprise.

"What are you complaining about, Vecchio, it's for you as much as him," Dewey says.

"Har de ha," Ray says, and picks up the Lieu's present to hand Fraser, and then realizes it's gone really quiet.

When he looks up Huey and Welsh are both looking at Dewey like they want to cut bits of him _off_. And Frannie and Elaine and whatshername from the evidence room are looking from Ray to Fraser and back again with these big eyes. Huh?

And then Welsh hustles Dewey out of the room and they can hear him explaining that, "In point of fact, Detective, 'asshole' is an official performance rating which is now going to be officially written down on your official evaluation." And Huey puts a hand on Ray's shoulder and one on Fraser's and says, "Sorry, guys, I should have figured out something was up with him when he bothered to _buy_ anything."

"It's not a big deal--hey, we haven't even cut the cake yet, c'mon," Ray says, because people are shuffling toward the door with "Oh, THIS is awkward" faces, and Frannie and Elaine and whatsername keep up with the "Are you two _okay_?" faces, and--

Oh. Frannie stopped hitting on Fraser, the last couple of weeks. _Oh_.

"Hey," Ray says. "You think--no, we're not--" And then he remembers to look at Fraser. Who looks like--gray was healthy. Gray was a nice peppy healthy color compared to whatever shade of white this is, and Fraser stands up without a word and walks out.

******************************************************************

 

He goes back to the Consulate, of course. Where else is there for him to go? But he is unfocused and unproductive, for the rest of the day. Inspector Thatcher asks him what in the world is wrong, and he can't even bring himself to say anything; just looks up from his paperwork and stares at her for a while, silent, until she says something about maintaining a pleasant façade being part of the job. He stares at her some more and she makes a huffy little noise and leaves, and he goes back to filling out forms, slowly and messily.

He should probably call Ray, apologize for dragging him into this before he'd even realized there was a _this_ to drag him into, for creating a false impression in the minds of Ray's colleagues that's—unpleasant and possibly even _dangerous_, for a cop. But every time he starts to pick up the phone he's seeing Ray's smile when he was opening his present, and feeling Ray's hand on him pulling him toward the party, and then it gets all mixed up with the astonishingly flexible men in the pictures on the lube instructions. And then he hears Ray saying, "No, we're not--" startled and horrified, and he can't possibly call Ray.

He discovers, after work hours, that he can't really lie down on his cot either. Just...no. He ends up on the couch in the formal sitting room, lying under a blanket and staring at the ceiling, working very hard to think of nothing at all and not succeeding.

And then of course there's a knock. Ray wouldn't be able to just let this go, would he? There will have to be a loud discussion. Ray is not going to let him do the polite thing, which would be to quietly put in for a transfer. Perhaps they would let him back in Canada, if it were to some tiny, isolated post. Perhaps he could manage not to make a mess of anyone else's life, if he were the only person for hundreds of miles.

He gets wearily to his feet, notes that he's in his long johns; it doesn't matter, he can't possibly horrify Ray any more at this point.

He opens the door, says, "Ray, I'm so sor-"

And Ray says, "Shut up."

He shuts up.

"Okay," Ray says. "Let me get this out, okay? I was surprised. At the party. I didn't know. That people were thinking that. But then I was thinking--if they are. If they're thinking that already. If we're already getting some of the bad stuff, like--Dewey being _extra_ Dewey, and other people thinking they need to _protect_ us or something. And the way cops can gossip--some of the other precincts are talking about it too, probably."

"Ray," Fraser whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"I _said_ shut up. My point was. Was, if we're already getting some of the bad, and it's not like you can ever get _rid_ of that kind of rumor, we might as well be having the fun part, huh? If, you know. You're at all. Interested."

"The…fun part?" Fraser says. "There's a...it's _fun_?" He is quite sure that he sounds incredibly stupid.

"Sure," Ray says. "I don't--make a habit, okay? But there was a while, right after Stella, when I tried--a lot of stuff. A lot of new stuff. And some of it was really stupid, the _way_ I did it anyway, but--I've gotten tested and everything, I'm fine. And, yeah, some of it was fun. A lot of fun."

They stand there for a while, and Fraser can think of absolutely nothing to say, and finally Ray says, "You don't have to, Frase. You know that. You don't have to do a thing you don't want to, and we'll still be partners tomorrow, but can I maybe come _in_? It's cold out here."

"Oh. Of course."

They're standing in the foyer then, much further apart than usual. Ray reaches across the gap that isn't usually there, puts his hands on Fraser's face. His hands are cold and Fraser gasps, and then Ray steps across the distance and kisses him with cold lips, very gently. Soft dry kisses that warm up slowly.

Kisses that rattle shivers all through Fraser, because it's been a long time, a very long time, and because it's Ray. Ray whom he's thought about much more, lately, than he was letting himself notice; Ray who made him come last night when he wasn't even here, with words he hadn't said yet. Ray who perhaps cares about him, too, in some strange small way; enough to pick out a present and throw a party with a very ugly cake.

Fraser's beginning to realize that he's never going to get the cabin and the wife and the small sturdy sons. And probably not even any--different version of that, because that's not what Ray was offering, was it? Not what he said, at all.

But--with none of that a possibility. With Ray here, and pressed against him and kissing him. Maybe Fraser can at least have, for however long it's offered, a little--fun.

He presses back against Ray. Puts his hands on Ray's waist, opens his mouth and nibbles at Ray's lips. Feels himself beginning to harden, and is shivering and hot and afraid, and closes his eyes.

 

\--END--


End file.
